


You Are My Peace

by itsnicenottobesoalone



Category: Sherlock (TV), johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Caring, Comfort, Cute, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Reichenbach, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 13:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1348621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsnicenottobesoalone/pseuds/itsnicenottobesoalone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John comes home to find Sherlock is in a 'mood' but not one he has any objection to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Are My Peace

**Author's Note:**

> Yet again, un-beta'd so if you wanna take a crack at my stuff, go for it! Let me know!

Every honking horn and blinking traffic light was more than enough to heighten John’s headache to such an uncomfortable level he was sure his temples would burst if he didn’t get back home soon. Pills and the promise of sleep awaited him and maybe if he was lucky, Sherlock would be thinking and playing his violin. Even though he would never admit it to his flatmate’s face, he rather enjoyed his incessant use of the instrument. John turned the corner sharply and arrived at 221B Baker Street, fumbling with his keys before finally succeeding in opening the door. He smirked for a moment before shutting the door lightly behind him; he could hear the fain sound of violin strings being danced across delicately from the lounge area. Bounding the stairs two at a time, John nearly stumbled into his bathroom and fumbled through his medicine cabinet until he found the small white bottle he was looking for. Sighing in relief, he popped two of the red pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry, too desperate for relief from the pain throbbing in his temples to fill a glass of water.

The music that was resonating from downstairs stopped, the final note dying in an ungraceful and honestly, un-Sherlock way. That meant one of two things; one could be that he had found something far better to occupy himself with, or whatever he was contemplating has found a new way to irritate and confound him. If it were the latter, then John was in for a night with a very disgruntled and uneasy-going Sherlock. He sighed, taking a last moment of silence for what was likely the last time that evening. Straightening his shoulders back, with a determined look on his face, John exited his bathroom and made his way down the creaking wooden stairs.

Just like he expected, Sherlock stood by the large window behind their shared desk. His gaze was distant and confused, almost pained looking. He was staring off to nowhere in particular, the violin clutched tightly in his right hand, the bow in his left, wrists flexing slightly as though his agitation were flowing through him like venom. His brow was furrowing and John was tempted just for a moment to pull out his phone and take a picture to preserve this image of Sherlock forever. But he knew that the second his phone left his pocket he’d have those distant eyes on him in such a violent glare that he decided it best to leave the device where it was. As though sensing his silent questioning, Sherlock pipped up in that low and velvety voice that never failed to stop John in his tracks.

“John, please come here.” He murmured, never breaking eye contact with his invisible competitor. John obeyed though, as he usually did to Sherlock’s requests and commands, and joined him at the window, staring off in hopes to catch a glimpse of whatever had a hold of Sherlock’s attention.

“Uh, Sherlock—“

“John, I’m drawing a blank.” John smirked, knowing full well what was happening now. This happened maybe once every few months, and most times John was out during these little moments of Sherlock’s. He would usually receive a text, something short like ‘Come home now. SH’ and he’d be on his way from wherever he was. Sherlock was his weakness, and as much as he denied himself the indigence of thinking about it, he was a bit taken by the man standing next to him. Whenever he received a text from him, John was on his feet and out the door, no questions asked. And these occasions were ones John would hurry home the fastest for. They would be the result of his friend thinking too hard, spending too much time on a particular case or working his constantly moving mind to the point of exhaustion. To put it simply, his mind was saying ‘enough is enough, I’m taking a break’. These were the times Sherlock required John’s company for some reason, and John never asked why, only obliged.  
“What will it be this time then?” John asked, as though asking about the weather, calmly and patiently. After several minutes of uninterrupted silence, and a few more confused faces from Sherlock, the silence was broken.

“My hair this time, please.”   
“This must be a big one.”

“Enormous.” And with that, Sherlock placed his violin and bow on the desk and made his way to the sofa, sprawling himself across it dramatically, his lanky limbs stretched out causing John to smirk. He joined his flatmate at the couch, standing over him, admiring his closed eyed calmed expression. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock raised his upper body just enough for John to seat himself behind him. John cradled Sherlock’s head as he readjusted himself, and in moments he was sighing in content, ready at last.

“I enjoy when you have these days, you know. You’re so quiet.” John softly muttered, a smirk at his lips as he began gently carding his fingers through the dark locks of curls atop Sherlock’s head, earning a hum of satisfaction in return.

“Why is that? These are my worst days. I feel lower than the earth, and you find enjoyment in this?” Sherlock said without moving an inch or opening his eyes. John continued his massaging, trailing his fingers down the sides of his friend’s face briefly before returning to their original position.

“I don’t mean that I enjoy your suffering, I mean I enjoy that you let me help you. It makes me feel useful to you.” Sherlock snorted then, his eyes opening to gaze up at John, a strange look in his eyes.

“You’re always useful to me, John. Where would I be without my blogger?” And with that, closed his eyes again, waving his hand in an effort to get John to continue running his fingers through his hair. John obeyed, gently massaging Sherlock’s scalp as he thought over his words.

“Well I like being useful to you in this way too. I like when you ask me to do these things.”

“You calm me. You give me clarity when my world is cluttered. You give me confidence that I can do anything again. Why wouldn't I ask you do to these things for me?” John’s heart nearly stopped when Sherlock said those things. They had never once talked about their feelings toward one another, and this was a shock to say the least. These moments they shared so fleetingly were something John was dependent on now, he loved when they came along and savored every second, knowing the next was likely months away. But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine Sherlock felt anything toward him, anything that wasn't along the lines of ‘you’re here and I can use you’. He cleared his throat and continued his massaging.

“Did I say something wrong? You’re uncomfortable for some reason.” Sherlock picked up on John’s heart rate and sudden tensing. If this were anyone else he would simply brush it off, but this was John. And as much as he hated to admit it to himself, he cared for John on a level he was unfamiliar with, yet didn’t want to lose.

“No, no heavens no. Just, well thinking.”  
“About? You’re tense, your heart is racing and your brow is perspiring slightly. Something appears to be bothering you. Tell me.” Sherlock rambled out, his voice never changing in octave, only remaining calm and soft as he requested John’s response.

“Well…it’s nothing really. Just—well you calm me as well. I feel lost sometimes, and then there you are. You help me. I guess I just enjoy having you around me.” Sherlock hummed in agreement, nodding slightly and sighing in content.

“John, can we not talk about this now? We have quite a bit to talk about obviously, but I’m still unwinding and I really can’t fit this in right now. Later?” John nodded, smiling as he lovingly ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair again. This was comfortable for them, no more words needed to be spoken. They had said what they needed to, and for now, that was enough. They sat that way for the rest of the night, not speaking, just enjoying each other’s company.


End file.
